Slow Dancing With Your Desires
by FantasmicalwonderlanD
Summary: Brittany and Santana always had their problems, but now Brittany doesn't know if she can deal with her anymore. Without Brittany, Santana's a mess and the only person that can keep her anchored is Quinn. Brittana, Quinntana. Rated M for future chapters.
1. Circle the Drain

**It was hard work, b**ut it was worth it!** Two stories, one day, 5 hours. This chapter is mostly just to get a feel of where Brittany and Santana's relationship is currently. I hit a few bumps, like I haven't decided on whether it's set during the summer or not. But I'll have that and any other kinks straightened out by the next chapter.**

**I'm gonna take a nap now.**

**Read, review, and enjoy.**

**- Lex.**

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><p>Santana stepped onto the porch outside Puck's house. She was in attendance to another one of his legendary parties. The faint thump of the bass from his speakers could be heard from outside, and intoxicated teenagers loitered in and around his house. She shivered as she sat down and whipped out her phone. She lazily dialed in the number she knew by heart and pressed the phone to her ear. Two rings passed and Brittany answered the phone.<p>

"Hello?" she said groggily.

"Hey sexy ladyyyy…" Santana slurred into the phone.

"Mr. Schue?"

"No Britt! It's me."

"Santana? Are you drunk?" Brittany's voice was thick with worry.

"No…" Santana lied, trying to sound as sober as possible. And to be honest, she wasn't. Completely shitfaced was a better term. She was about 4 shots of vodka and a half bottle of Jack past drunk. It was a miracle that she had been able to stand and make somewhat coherent sentences.

"Santana, don't do this…"

"No, no. I just wanted to call. And let you know. That.. I-I love you."

"Why don't you try telling me that when you're sober?" Brittany said, her sympathy turning to anger.

"But-"

"No, Santana. You do this every time. You go get drunk and then call me at ridiculous hours, saying things you won't even remember the next morning. I'm tired of going through these ups and downs with you." She sighed. "Look, I don't have time for this tonight. If you remember this conversation in the morning we can talk about it. I'm going back to bed."

Brittany hung up, leaving Santana with the dial tone.

The latina stared out into the sky, which was immaculately clear that night. If she hadn't been completely shitfaced as afore stated, she probably would've stayed out and looked at the stars. But she stood up, using the handrail for balance, and walked back into Puck's house. She fought her ay through the mob of drunken idiots and made her way up the stairs to the guest bedroom.

The next morning, Santana work up with a burning throat and a pounding head. As she slowly regained consciousness, she realized it wasn't just the alcohol that was giving her this splitting headache. It also happened to be the Santana shaped head print in the wall. She'd made it up the stairs, but not quite to the guest room. She'd passed out directly in front of it, actually. She sat and continued to rub her head a few more minutes before trudging back downstairs to the kitchen.

Puck was nowhere to be found, but that didn't particularly alarm her. She made herself a glass of water, needing anything to calm her searing throat. As she sipped her drink she scrolled through her contacts, wondering the events of last night. She stopped on a familiar name and froze.

_Brittany._

Santana mentally kicked herself. She knew Brittany hated it when she drank. It was gonna be hell trying to get Brittany to forgive her, after she'd fucked up, _again_.

She internally groaned and continued scrolling until she stopped on another familiar number.

_Quinn._

Sure, their relationship had been skating on thin ice, but they were The Unholy Trinity and that was forever. From the sleepover they'd had that night freshman year, they promised each other that when the other ever needed them, they would be there. And right now Santana needed a ride. She knew Quinn wouldn't give her a ride without some sort of explanation, but she really didn't want to have that talk right then. She figured she'd make up some story, something about… Well, she'd know when it came time.

"Hello?" Quinn said quietly.

"Hey, Quinn. I, uh, need a ride home. I'm at Puck's."

There was a long pause. "Okay. I'll be there in 10 minutes." and hung up.

What? She hadn't asked a single question about why, no snarky remark, not even a little sarcasm before ending the conversation.

She took two aspirin and smoothed out her hair and clothes while waiting for Quinn. She heard her pull up in the driveway, then honk the horn before walking outside and entering the car. Santana looked her up and down, she was wearing a tank top, jeans, and flip flops with her hair pulled up into a loose bun.

"Nice outfit, Fabray." Santana smirked.

"I'd say the same to you, Lopez. Now shut it, or you can walk home." Quinn replied shortly.

Santana started to say something, but thought better of testing Quinn's threats. Quinn breathed deeply before backing out and driving down the street.


	2. Fix Me

**Sorry for such a short first chapter! The original I typed out was much longer but I lost it, and was writing at 4am, soo yeah. Hope this one makes up for it ^_^ And sorry about any mistakes, I'm also writing this pretty early. I really appreciate the feedback, it makes me want to write more! Plus, I'm going to be able to update faster, I got a new computer! Woot woot!**

**Also, I meant to cover this in the first chapter, but you may or may not have noticed that my chapters are named after songs. (Ch.1: Circle the Drain - Katy Perry) I've decided that for this story (and maybe others) I'll name them after a song that properly describes the story and that will be the "theme". It would be best to listen to the song or at least look at the lyrics, I think it might make the read more enjoyable. I'll post the name of the song and artist at the end of every chapter, starting with this one.**

**Read, review, and enjoy!**

**-Lex.**

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><p>Quinn would've normally chalked a call like this as a typical Santana Saturday Stupor, but it was a Thursday. Sure, it was Spring Break so they had no real commitments to school, but it was unlike Santana to get drunk and call <em>her <em>the following morning. Quinn would've normally would have scoffed and hung up, but she could sense something in her voice, something she had never really heard before. She sounded, _drained_. Not drained from partying either; that would've been deserving of the dial tone.

She'd always felt some sort of responsibility for the girl anyways, although they didn't speak and weren't relatively close to being friends, she always kept an eye out for the girl. Quinn felt it was her responsiblility to keep everyone together as best she could. She already knew Santana had a secret she wanted to keep, and she saw her emotions that revealed all. She noticed the way Brittany would rub her back to calm her down when Rachel was on another one of her self absorbed rants again. Or how they would link pinkies during a particularly moving performance. Or even how Brittany rest her head on Santana's shoulder when they thought no one was looking. She wasn't sure if Santana knew that she knew about her and Brittany, but she had no intention on calling them out on it, which suited them both fine. So she had Santana's back, even if Santana would never know.

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><p>Quinn and Santana sat in silence on the ride home. Although Santana simply sat, head tilted back and eyes closed throughout the entire ride, Quinn still focused her attention on making the least amount of eye contact with the brunette as possible, paying much more attention to the road than nessecary. She watched the houses get larger and the lawns nicer as they entered Santana's neighborhood. Quinn pulled into the driveway then turned off the engine and looked straight ahead. She exhaled deeply, opening her mouth then closing it again, as if looking for the right words. When she'd thought she found her wording, she opened it again but Santana got out of the car and proceeded towards the house.<p>

Quinn soon followed behind her but stopped at the door. She hadn't been inside her house since freshman year, back in a time when things had been so much simpler. When they'd promised that no matter what happened, the ties of middle school would hold strong; they would never leave eachother. They were they Unholy Trinity for life. Santana took a long look back at her from the end of the staircase, then walked up towards her room. Quinn silently followed, taking in the familiarity of it all. Their house was still very much the same, still luxurious, and still very empty. Santana's room had been the only thing that really changed; the decor matching her persona. Dark, mysterious, and unfriendly, just how she liked everyone to see her. She strolled around her room, sight grazing over the stacked shoe boxes of stilletos to the Jah Babylon poster in her room. She paused, stopping at an old pink jewelry box. Quinn gave a small smile. There was a picture of Santana, her, and Brittany framed in the top. There was a piece of the Santana she knew.

The Santana she knew was never this angry and resentful. But around the time she entered high school, the Lopez's decided she was "old enough", and stopped being home as much. At first, it was a blessing: endless parties and late night company. But later, when she was faced with problems, there was no one with a helpful word of advice. She had to rely on herself for help, for support, for a shoulder to cry on.

Quinn went and sat down on the edge of the bed opposite from Santana. She chanced a glance at Santana, who was glaring at her comforter. Her face showed a mixture of hurt and anger. And pain.  
>She looked up at Quinn.<p>

"Santana..." Quinn started, in her usual mousy voice that sounded as if she were about to cry at any given moment.

Santana's hard stare turned into a crumpled expression immediatly, catching Quinn somewhat off-guard. "I fucked up Quinn. I really did." Santana sniffed. "I called Brittany last night drunk. After I told her I wouldn't anymore. I told her I wouldn't. I told her.." She repeated over and over again until she was speaking in but a low whisper.

"I-I.." She tried to continue, but choked on her words.

Santana tightened her face, trying unsuccessfully to stop the tears from pushing their way to the forefront. She couldn't bear to look Quinn in the eye, letting her see her weak; she instead returned to her attempts to mentally burn holes in her sheets. Quinn continued to stare at Santana, she wondered how she could be so strong in public and was really just a little girl trapped inside a teenagers body. A little girl who feels like she just lost her best friend, the only person who she allowed help shoulder her burdens. Quinn scooted closer to Santana, not quite knowing how to comfort her, any other physical contact they had had with one another were ones of violence. She placed a hand lightly on her back, rubbing her awkwardly. Santana initially stiffened at the encounter, but didn't stop her.

Quinn sighed. "Talk to her, San. Just... Talk, okay?"

"I-I don't know if I can." Santana squeaked. Had the house not been eerily silent, Quinn may not have heard her.

"You can." Quinn replied, and left it at that.

They sat in the same postion for minutes. Quinn alternating from rubbing her back to stroking her hair, occasionally tilting her head upwards to stop the tears stinging her eyes. Santana had been murmuring unintelligible sentences for the latter part. She suddenly moved from her bed quickly, and regained her composure. She wiped away any smeared make-up from her eyes then turned to Quinn.

"I- uh, have alot of work to do." She coughed. "Ya know, Mr. Schue's Spanish project and all." She stared at the floor as she talked.

Quinn got the hint. "Oh. Uh, yeah. I understand. I need to be leaving anyways, I have to... Help my mom with something."

Once they got to the front door, Quinn looked to Santana. She wanted to say 'See you back at school', but she wasn't sure if that would be as friends or rivals. She _really _wanted to give her a hug and tell her everything would be okay, but she knew she would be overstepping her boundaries; even if Santana did need it. She settled for a faint-hearted smile before turning to leave.

"Uhhh, Quinn?"

Quinn turned around and her eyes met with Santana's watery brown ones. She looked tired, aged. But this was not a grown woman, this was simply a 17 year old girl, grown up too fast.

"Thanks."

"No problem, Santana."

She made her way to her car and thought one last time about Santana and Brittany's relationship, and truly hoped they could work out their issues.

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><p><strong>Fix Me - Mariana's Trench<strong>


	3. Sorry Seems to be the Hardest Word

**New chapter! Please be sure to review, it really does motivate me to update faster ^_^ My writing is far from perfect so I'm open to constructive criticsm as well.  
><strong>**Another way you can get in touch with me is to message me on tumblr: fantasmicalwonderland(dot)tumblr(dot)com :)**

**Read, review and enjoy!**

**- Lex.**

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><p>After Santana closed the door behind Quinn, she immediately broke down and leaned against the door, slowly sliding down. She pulled her knees close to her chest and cried. She cried for the pain Brittany was in, and the hopelessness she felt when she thought about trying to fix it. There were no excuses, she knew that, but she had no idea how she could make things better with her blonde, and that scared her the most. She cried for the division of her and the blonde, and most of all, she cried because she caused it.<p>

She was consumed by her thoughts, reliving the events of the previous night.

Santana stood off to the side with fellow Cheerios, just outside of the large crowd on the makeshift dancefloor. Despite Brittany's refusal to accompany her, she was having a fairly decent time. A better time than she thought she'd be having that night anyways. She made a mental note to stop by her house before the night ended.

A voice brought Santana out of her daze. "Hellooo? Earth to Santana." Chelsea, another Cheerio said. "Are you even listening?"

Santana shook her head. "Huh? Oh, yeah. I'm fine."

The girl followed her line of vision across the room, to a random girl on the dancefloor. She twisted her face. "What're you, gay or something?" she questioned.

"N-no! I wasn't…" Santana stuttered as she began to realize what was taking place.

The look on the girls face said she didn't believe her. She looked over Santana once more with judgmental eyes before turning away and beginning another conversation. Santana wanted to crawl inside herself and hide. She wished for the ability to be invisible. To disappear. But she stayed amongst the Cheerios; until Puck stumbled his way over, groping her. A pair of lips met her cheek in a sloppy kiss that reeked of alcohol. She took one last hesitant look over her shoulder before allowing herself to be led upstairs and into his room.

Once they reached his bedroom, clothes were quickly removed. First his, then he undressed her. He set his pace fast and rough, his breathing becoming heavy and labored. Santana tried to appear as though she enjoyed it, digging her nails into his back and moaning occasionally. He finished quickly, and got dressed quicker, throwing a silent 'thanks' over his shoulder before he left. Santana sat on his bed for a moment before getting dressed. Once Santana was alone, she located her clothes and began to get dressed. She checked herself once over before deciding to head downstairs. Although she was disgusted with what she found there, she let it be. There was no way to fix the dirty, uncomfortable feeling she held or clear the stench of guilt that permeated her skin.

Santana fought her way through the crowd, which had grown since she left. She rejoined the Cheerios, and was met with knowing glances from the entire group.

"I saw you go upstairs with Puck…"

"Yeah." She said defensively.

"So… How'd it go?"

A few Cheerios giggled.

"Fine… Great, actually." Santana crossed her arms and put on the best bitch smirk she could muster.

Santana knew she was lying, to the Cheerios and to herself. She hated the way she felt afterwards, it made her skin crawl. She felt disgusting, like her body was nothing. That all she was good for was to be an object of the sexual desires of any guy looking for a quick hook-up. That she had no worth, because she never gave herself any, and now no one else did. And she didn't expect any different. All she expected was to be able to go home, take a long shower, and go to bed and hope for better days. Days filled with only her and Brittany, free from worrying about the looks and rumors of the people she dared call her "friends".

"Um… Are you okay?"

Santana swiped the tears away from her face quickly; she hadn't realized she started crying. "Yeah, I'm fine." She cleared her throat. "I just need a drink."

She rushed away from the girls, before more tears could push their way to the surface. She soon reached the kitchen and filled a cup with several types of alcohol she found there. She drank it in large gulps, and didn't stop until it was halfway empty. The liquor seared her throat, but she didn't care. She downed the rest of the concoction and began to pour herself another.

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><p>Santana shook her head at the memory. She picked herself off the floor, groaning at the unrelenting throbbing in her head of the almost forgotten headache. She continued back up the stairs and into her bathroom. She adjusted the water as hot as it would go, allowing the burning sensation to cleanse her as the water rushed down her back. She crawled into bed, fatigue immediately washing over her. She thought of Brittany briefly before exhaustion clouded her mind and she drifted into sleep.<p>

When she awoke, she felt significantly better. She checked the clock on her nightstand; it read 2:35. By 3:00, she was dressed and on her way to Brittany's house. It was a relatively short walk, as they didn't live very far away, but to Santana it felt like an eternity. She was dreading having to talk to the girl, she had to stop herself from turning around and calling off the entire thing. She came up the walkway and rang the doorbell. Mrs. Pierce answered the door with her apron donned and a cheery smile.

"Why hello, Santana. It's quite a pleasure seeing you here."

"Hi Mrs. Pierce." Santana said, retaining a weak smile.

"Come on in, Brittany's upstairs in her room."

Santana followed the woman into her home, and up the familiar stairs she'd used so many times. She continued until she reached closed door at the end of the hallway. She grabbed the handle of the door, and paused. She sucked in a deep breath and opened the door.

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><p><strong>Sorry Seems to be the Hardest Word - Elton John<strong>


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